


The Social Codification Of Sexual Intercourse

by leiascully



Category: Bones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stop analyzing our relationship when I'm trying to get you into bed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Social Codification Of Sexual Intercourse

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Hypothetical S5  
> A/N: I wrote this before watching "The Cinderella In The Cardboard", and I feel like that episode validates the existence of this fic. Many thanks to [**coffeesuperhero**](http://coffeesuperhero.livejournal.com/) for reading it through. At last, the tender baby-making sex.  
> Disclaimer: _Bones_ and all related characters are the property of Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs, 20th Century Fox, Josephson Entertainment, and Far Field Productions. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

"Just so you know," he says, skimming her camisole over her head, "this is the tender baby-making sex, Bones, so don't laugh. It puts me off my game."

"I'll be very good," she promises, caressing his bare chest. His pectorals flex under her hands.

"You always are," he says, sliding his palms up her back. His hands are strong and his touch makes her pliable; her responsiveness to his presence, his touch, always surprises her with its intensity. But then they have been pair bonding for years, at each other's sides through any number of extreme situations with adrenaline bridging the gaps between them like electricity, and their intimacy in sexual situations is a reflection of their strong connection outside the bedroom. She is hyper-aware of him, keyed to his every reaction, as if instead of her bedroom, they are making their way into a dark basement where death waits.

She likes this better. The only bones she wants to examine tonight are his, the way they press up under his skin against hers when he pulls her this close.

He presses his cheek to hers and kisses her ear. "Stop analyzing our relationship while I'm trying to get you into bed, Bones."

"We don't have a relationship," she insists. "You're just helping impregnate me. Which is very kind of you, by the way, and I was thinking of getting you a fruit basket. Maybe a pie of the month club, do you think that exists?"

"Naw, I mean, it probably does, but you're wrong," he says, and holds her by the shoulders. His hips brush hers and she enjoys the sensation of his erection against her pubis. "Bones, hey. We are definitely in a relationship. This is not just sex: we're trying to make a child. We're making love."

"Are we?" she asks skeptically.

"Absolutely," he tells her. He lifts one of her hands with both of his and kisses her knuckles as he looks into her eyes. "This is much more than sex." She opens her mouth and he cuts her off. "Procreative or recreational, 'cause it wouldn't matter if we weren't trying to have a child together. When we're together, that's my soul touching your soul, and don't tell me the soul is a construct of the church, because there's more on heaven and earth, Horatio, yadda yadda."

"Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?" She grins at him. Her heart is beating faster in response to the urgency of his tone and his body. She is filled with an irrational happiness that creates the illusion that a glow is expanding under her sternum. "Misquote, I mean. Very sweet, Booth."

"Only the best for you, babe," he says, kissing her hand again. "'Cause this matters, okay?"

"Yes," she says, "it does."

His face brightens and his pupils dilate, indicative of the neurotransmitters flooding his pleasure centers. He loves her. More than that: he is in love with her, for his response to be so strong. She feels her lips part and her cheeks flush, involuntary reactions to his display. Yes, this matters, and she is illogically glad about it. In the past, she has tried to limit her attachment to her sexual partners, but Booth is different. He insists they are lovers, and it seems that he is correct. She tips her face up to his.

"Take me to bed, Booth," she whispers. "I won't laugh."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He takes her by the hand and leads her into her bedroom. Her skin tightens with anticipation as he undresses her with deft hands, kissing her clavicle as he unhooks her bra and making his way down to her pelvis to thumb open the clasp of her trousers and ease the zipper down. There he pauses, kneeling before her as he hooks her panties down her thighs with one hand, the other cupping her ass to pull her hips toward his questing mouth. His tongue dips between her folds and she has to grab his shoulder to stay upright.

"I don't think your mouth is going to be particularly effective in impregnating me," she manages to say as her head spins.

He looks up at her with a twinkle in his eye: his pose may indicate submission, but he's still the alpha male through and through, in control of his situation. "Just setting the stage. Work with me."

"Ah, right," she says, "tender love-making. So what happens next?"

He slides up her body. "Next, I ease you back onto the bed with manly strength and encourage you to take my clothes off." He accompanies words with actions and she complies, unbuttoning his jeans and using her foot to help him remove them. He is leaning over her, looking into her eyes, and this time she doesn't even have the urge to laugh. The expression on his face is indescribable: joy, affection, desire, anticipation. He looks absurdly more handsome than he ever has before, no doubt due to the hormones washing through her system, chemically altering her perception of his pleasing symmetry, except that there is a new warmth in her body, something that has to do with the light in his eyes. She needs to tell him that this is more than biochemistry, that she isn't just using him for his semen. She cups his face in her hands.

"Booth."

"Temperance," he says softly. "Does that sound weird? That sounds weird."

"A little," she admits.

"I'll find something a little less grim to call you in bed," he promises, smiling. "We've got time, right?"

"Yeah," she says. "Booth, listen."

"Uh oh," he says. "What's going on?"

She squirms under him. "I, um. I wouldn't want to have a child with anyone else. It's not just your superior genetics and the convenience. I think you're a really good dad. And you're special. To me."

"That means a lot," he says, and kisses her. She wants him, suddenly and completely, more than she's wanted anything, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down against her. He feels it too, sliding his hand between their hips to guide himself into her. She is proud that she is so slick for him, giddy that he inspires her body to these heights. He pushes deep inside her and pauses, pupils even more dilated, levering himself back up onto his hands. Her body adjusts to him and she lets out a long breath and grips his hips, urging him on.

He moves slowly inside her, just as tender as he promised. She shifts with him until their bodies find a perfect rhythm. They are both slick with sweat and he is still looking into her eyes. It is shockingly intimate and she loves it; she can feel the connection with exquisite clarity all down the length of their bodies. Each thrust seems to bring him further under her skin, literally and metaphorically. The more she has of him, the more she wants him, until she is clutching at his back, arching up under him, whimpering his name. He shudders and buries his face in her neck, his muscles untensing, still thrusting into her, his fingers stroking her until she is at the moment of ecstasy, clasping him to her as if she is trying to meld their bodies together in symbolic union. He collapses next to her and they lie together, panting, letting homeostasis stabilize the frantic thumping of their hearts and the rush of their respiration.

"That was excellent," she says, when she can breathe easily again. "I'm glad that our evolutionary process contributed to making procreation so enjoyable."

"Oh yeah," he says, rolling close enough to kiss her.

"That was really excellent," she says, turning her head to look at him. "It'll almost be a shame when I conceive and we have no reason to continue this relationship, I mean, unless you feel like the benefits of our sexual partnership outweigh the risks of compromising our professional partnership."

He props himself up on one elbow and gazes at her with those soulful brown eyes. "Marry me."

"Marriage is a social construction," she says idly, touching his face. "It's an institution contrived to reinforce our biologically and psychologically unsound notions of monogamy. It's a legal and moral codification of pair bonding, which arose mostly as a way of ensuring that offspring would survive to perpetuate the species, not out of love or religion or even moral conviction. Marriage is a way to ensure that not only will the offspring be nurtured but that resources can be pooled by family groups, and the distinction of family groups is in great part a reflection of our primal social behaviors and the need for genetic diversity. The idea that a ring and a vow can somehow transform a relationship between two individuals into some kind of intangible, immortal union just reveals our own anxiety about aging and death and the desire for our genetic traits to continue to exist. Plus, it allows two people to engage in sexual intercourse and not be victims of pointless and frankly counterproductive social scrutiny and excoriation to which we as a culture subject those we suspect of having extramarital relations."

"I don't care," he says. "Marry me."

"Booth, I'm not even pregnant yet," she says.

"I don't care," he repeats. "I don't care if you never get pregnant. I love you. Marry me. Please, Bren."

"You never call me that," she sidesteps.

He shrugs, awkward as he's still leaning on his elbow. "Sounded better than 'Temperance'. It's what I called you in my dream."

"It wasn't a dream," she corrects, "it was a coma."

"It's a rational choice," he says, ignoring her. "I mean, you don't want to raise the kid by yourself. Marriage is all about nurturing the offspring, right? And let me tell you, it's not always fun or easy."

"They'll split us up if we're married," she says. "We won't be able to work together.

"They're gonna split us up anyway," he points out. "I mean, somebody's gonna know that I'm the father and say we're too involved, and after a while, you'll be on maternity leave, and after that you're not gonna be up for fieldwork anyway, not with a newborn or an infant in the house. For one thing, you'll be exhausted. For another thing, your priority won't be the work anymore."

"I'm extremely professional!" she objects, half-sitting up to be at his level.

He shrugs. "It's just a fact, Bren, kids change things. I'm sure you can find some hormonal, social bonding, God knows what reason for it. I mean, parents don't care about their kids, species doesn't survive, right?"

She sinks back down between her elbows. "I suppose."

"I know you suffered, not having your parents around," he says. "I don't want our kid going through that."

She frowns at him. "Is this your people skills again? Because I don't like being manipulated, Booth."

"It's not people skills," he promises. "I just care about you. I care about the baby we might have. I want the best for all of us. I told you: I love you. What about 'Bren', can I call you that? Or is that still weird. I mean, 'Bones' in bed doesn't quite work."

"Bren's not too bad," she says, still skeptical. "I still think you're using your empathy on me."

He grins. "Hey, love makes people do crazy things, right? Like propose to sexy scientists who are basically from another planet when it comes to things like emotions and romance and spending the rest of our lives together." He kisses the joint of her shoulder.

"Okay," she says. "I'll think about it."

"What?" he asks, nuzzling at her skin.

"Marriage. Stability. Whatever you talked about just now in your little speech about emotions and connection and humanity." She smiles at him. "I'll think about it. Rationally."

The dilation of his pupils makes it look as if someone has turned on a light behind him, and his smile seems to illuminate her bedroom. He wraps her in his arms and tumbles her over, kissing her until she surprises herself by giggling.


End file.
